by Julie Cross
He rests his forehead against my stomach and his entire body shakes with laughter. When he lifts his head, he’s wearing that Jordan Bentley amused and devious smile that I know so well. I was introduced to that half-bad-boy look my first night at his house, when he told me he’d already cleared all the magazines out from under the bathroom sink.
God, that was humiliating.
“I don’t know,” Jordan says finally.
“But if you had to guess… ?”
“Equal or less.”
Hmm… okay then. “Are you sure I’m the best person for you to be fooling around with? Obviously I know how to kill the romance.”
He kisses the space between my boobs. “Yes, I’m sure.”
“Yeah, but why me?” Why not Liberty or some other hotter, more experienced girl?
“I love you.”
Three words. Well done, Jordan. “What’s your opinion regarding girls touching themselves?”
I feel his eyebrows lift but he keeps up the kissing. “Hot. Totally hot.”
I start to laugh and then stop abruptly. “I haven’t done that before,” I admit, hoping I wasn’t misleading. “Not yet anyway. But I will. I totally will, so you keep visualizing the hotness of all that or whatever, okay?”
He slides up higher and wraps his arms around me so tightly that I can feel him against my leg, feel all of me touching all of him. He buries his face in my hair, mumbling, “I love you so much. You’re awesome and adorable and sexy and bold and brave and… Please don’t stop being like this, okay? Promise?”
I’m warm all over—inside and out. I wait for Jordan to lift his head and I kiss him hard, forcing him onto his back. My fingers slide down his stomach and keep sliding until I’m touching him. His breath catches and then he deepens the kiss, one hand reaching for my face.
“You don’t have to—” he starts to say, whispering the words against my lips. But he stops and sucks in a breath when my touch becomes more firm. “You can… you know… quit whenever…”
I pull back a little and watch his expression carefully. Maybe I am brave?
There’s a whole new kind of tension wrinkling his forehead and I know right then that I’m, at the very least, not terrible at this.
I duck my head and kiss his neck so he can’t see me smiling.
chapter ten
~jordan~
My feet are freezing. And my ass.
I peel my eyes open and see that there’s now at least a foot between me and Karen. I rustle around inside the tent, feeling my way through the dark until my hands locate my bag. I pull out a pair of boxers and slide them on along with my liner socks. Karen’s curled up in a ball, the outline of panties showing through the dark and a tank top, too, I think. She must have woken up cold before I did.
I unzip the extra sleeping bag and lie down behind her, tossing it over both of us. During the long hike yesterday, I wasn’t sure how awkward this would be for her—staying alone in a tent together all night—but the second my arm drapes around her waist, my chest pressing against her back, she relaxes into me like even in her sleep she expects me here. Close. I tangle our legs together, hoping we’ll both get warmer from body heat.
The haze of last night is finally clearing, my brain catching up with my emotions. How the hell did all that happen? How did we go from having fun hiking to fighting to me agreeing to have surgery to getting naked… then the crying and the deep discussion of measuring male anatomy and questioning the diameter of my index finger? And then the part where Karen became an accomplished hand-job giver.
I think I’m ready to do it all over again.
Minus the fighting.
“Are you as cold as I am?” Karen mumbles. “Or are you lying awake regretting agreeing to go back to the doctor?”
I tighten my arms around her and rest my mouth against her neck. “Yes, then no.” I can’t help it, the three-word challenge is too much fun to end yet.
And yes, I’m still scared shitless. I feel like puking just thinking about surgery, but I don’t regret agreeing to it. Not after hearing her say, I need you to be okay. I need you.
I’d been too busy thinking about my own fears, I hadn’t realized what it was doing to Karen. She’s been through so much. I can’t make her worry more than she needs to.
“I’m okay,” I whisper. “Just cold.”
There’re goose bumps spreading over her skin in each place I kiss and after a few more seconds, she sighs and adjusts her head to expose more skin. I’m completely unsure how far to take this. On one hand, I want to make her feel like she made me feel. And on the other, it seems a bit backward for me to attempt this if she hasn’t even tried by herself. It would be weird, right? Maybe she has done it but didn’t want to admit it? No, I don’t think she was lying. She almost seemed disappointed that she couldn’t admit to it.
I slip my fingers under her tank top. She jumps, probably from the coldness, and then holds my hand against her chest, warming it. I take that as a good sign and continue exploring with my fingers until I make my way back to her waist.
All this thinking about touching her is forcing me to pull my hips away from her back. I hesitate, like a fifteen-year-old about to make contact with his first pair of panties and afraid he might get slapped. But then Karen slides her right leg ever so slightly away from her left and my heart races. Is that a hint? Did she do that on purpose? Is she making room for my hand to fit between her legs? It’s funny how I can think about so many different concerns and outcomes now, but when the roles were reversed, when Karen had her hands on me, all I could think about was me. So yeah, apparently I’m a selfish bastard.
And Karen hadn’t seemed weirded out while touching me hours ago. In fact, she seemed very aware and even expectant of both the process and the outcome. Or I could have been too focused on myself to notice any discomfort on her part.
What the hell? I’m not some new adolescent who can’t unfasten a bra. I know how to pay attention. I know Karen and I know when she’s uncomfortable.
I skim my fingertips as lightly as possible between her legs, but over underwear. I calm my nerves by trying to guess the color using touch only. It’s impossible, but also distracting. Her breath catches and I hold perfectly still, waiting. Wishing I could see her face. But maybe that would be too direct. Too much pressure for her.
I swallow and it sounds loud and deliberate. I should just ask if this is okay. No, that’s probably not easy to admit… easier to let it happen without talking about it. But then what if she—
My questions come to a halt. Karen’s right leg shifts over even farther, allowing more space for my hand. I touch my forehead to her shoulder, biting back laughter. I’m an idiot. And a coward.
I slide my hand further south and feel dampness, even through the satin material. My brain kicks into gear, my thoughts narrowing. I’m doing this. I’m totally doing this.
My lips are all over her neck, her shoulders, her back… I concentrate hard, coaching myself the whole time… Your dad is gonna be here tomorrow, don’t give her any hickies… Slow down, Jordan… Don’t let her get nervous… I press more firmly with my fingertips and continue moving them gently.
Her heart rate picks up and she makes deliberate efforts to quiet her heavy breathing. And just when I’m flying high, excited to get her excited, it occurs to me that I might not know if I’ve done a good job or not. Is she going to tell me?
I catch her ear lobe between my teeth and whisper, “Tell me when to stop, okay?”
“It’s okay,” she says right away. “I like it.”
A smile spreads across my face. “I know that. But tell me when I’m finished.”
Her cheeks heat up under my lips. “Wait… What if—”
Sorry, Karen, failure is not an option.
I roll her over and kiss her hard on the mouth, my hand slipping under the satin material. I get lost in feeling her heart speed up, listening to her breaths quicken against my neck, the sounds she’s working hard to
muffle. And then her lips freeze against mine, her muscles tensing and then completely relaxing. I slow my fingers down and eventually shift them over, rubbing the inside of her thigh. I pull back and take in her face—cheeks flushed, eyes closed, red hair all around—she’s beautiful. Perfect. Mine.
I lean down and gently touch my mouth to hers. “Stop now?” I tease.
She laughs, her face reddening even more, eyes still closed. “Um… yeah.”
After the glow wears off, the haziness that had clouded both of us, Karen makes a deliberate effort to bury her face in my chest so she doesn’t have to make eye contact. I’m wide awake, but I can feel the sleepiness sweeping over her, so I wrap my arms around her and let the awkwardness fade.
When I’m nearly positive she’s asleep, she surprises me by mumbling, “Question?”
I kiss her forehead and close my eyes, relaxing. It’s over. We’re okay. “Uh-huh. Shoot.”
“Have you ever opened your eyes while kissing me?”
“Yes, many times.”
“What did you see?”
“So many freckles.”
“You like this three-word game, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Have you read Forever by Judy Blume?”
“No, should I?”
She sighs, and this time it sounds a little bit sad. Maybe there’s some connection to her parents or her mom.
“You don’t need to read it,” she says eventually. “I just can’t help thinking that I feel like Kath and Michael right now. And well… it didn’t work out for them.”
“Hello, spoiler alert.”
Karen laughs, relaxing again. “Shut up. You know you won’t read it. But don’t you feel like we’re inside this bubble? Like believing in Santa Claus. You’re in it a hundred percent… until you’re not.”
Exactly. I don’t know what I’m more afraid of—having that surgery or having Karen stop being in love with me. Or realize that maybe she never was in the first place. I’ve downplayed last summer with Liberty, but there were moments when I thought I loved her. It’s stupid now, looking back on it, but like she said, I’d been in a bubble. I don’t think I am right now, but maybe Karen is.
I kiss her forehead again. “Let’s just be in it a hundred percent and not worry about the rest.”
She snuggles closer. “That was way more than three words.”
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Spread the word
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About the author
Julie Cross is the International Bestselling author of the Tempest series, a young adult science fiction trilogy which includes Tempest, Vortex, and the final installment, Timestorm (St. Martin’s Press). She’s also the author of Letters to Nowhere (8/13), a mature young adult romance set in the world of elite gymnastics, as well as several forthcoming young adult and new adult novels with publishers like Entangled, Sourcebooks, HarperCollins, and St. Martin’s Press/Thomas Dunne Books.
Julie lives in Central Illinois with her husband and three children. She’s a former gymnast, longtime gymnastics fan, coach, and former Gymnastics Program Director with the YMCA.
Description
Previously in RETURN TO YOU (Letters to Nowhere Part 3)
“Slowly, I turn toward him, sifting through a dozen different emotions. Before I can process or stop myself, I’m lifting a hand, balling up my fist, pulling back wind-up style, and then planting my knuckles hard into TJ’s jaw.”
RETURN TO US (Letters to Nowhere Part 4)
30,000 word novella and part 4 in the 2014 RITA Nominated Letters to Nowhere series
So yeah, that really happened. Karen’s fist connecting with TJ’s face.
Not only is TJ dealing with a decent sized bruise on his face where Karen gave her best attempt at a knock-out match, now he’s got some explaining to do after Jordan finds out what happened.
Karen’s not ready to forgive TJ for his tough-love tactics to help get her bar routine back in full swing, but she is ready to figure out how to get through to Jordan. He’s being a complete idiot, not dealing with his health issues, forcing her to keep things a secret from Coach Bentley.
With her teammate, Stevie’s, help Karen comes up with a plan to steer Jordan in the right direction—all she needs is a night alone with him and the hiking and camping expedition he promised her weeks ago might be the perfect opportunity.
Or her plan could backfire and he could slip further away from her.
While Karen and Jordan are out playing lumberjack couple in the Pocono Mountains, TJ is dealing with a stranger trying to give him advice on his tumbling, some pretty overt advances from one of Nina Jones’ gymnasts (aka: off limits), and a random hook-up that will most likely end up being a big mistake.
EDITORIAL REVIEWS FOR LETTERS TO NOWHERE
“Poignant and emotionally-charged, Letters to Nowhere is about the befores and afters that color our daily lives.”–Sophia Bleu, author of Catching Liam
“Letters to Nowhere is a beautiful story filled to the brim with hope, growth, and the magic of teenage relationships that will blow readers away.”–The Book Cellar
“That perfect mix of sweet and emotional, Letters to Nowhere had me hooked. I love Karen and Jordan so much!”–A Good Addiction
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Spread the Word
Description
About the Author
